The Melody of Passion
by PetPetAngel
Summary: [JuandissimoChip] Just as he’s getting ready to speak, say anything else to get a response, the man speaks in a low voice, coated with a Spanish accent, 'Leave me alone.'


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The Melody of Passion

Written by:

PetPetAngel

Notes: This pairing is messed up, I know, but I did this meme and of the questions was (from a list of twelve people from one fandom), "What would you title a story with Three/Seven?" And they happened to be these two, and I don't know... I have prolems. :D

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When Chip finds him outside his door, for a moment he is torn at what exactly he should do. He thinks for a moment of his mother, who, if she had been there, would tell him, no, and then of his father, so compassionate and caring he'd at least ask whether the man was okay or not.

And while he thinks of how it would deeply disappoint his mother, Chip goes out to the man sitting on the porch in the rain, ignoring the chill in the air. The man isn't moving, and for a moment, Chip wonders if he's even alive. He thinks maybe he's homeless, but he's clean shaven, well dressed and well groomed and he quickly throws that option out the window.

He nudges the man, speaking a soft, "Hey," but when the man doesn't even stir Chip raises his voice slightly, "You okay?"

The man moves slightly, groans. He turns his face away and Chip can't help but feel concerned that he's in some sort of pain. Just as he's getting ready to speak, say anything else to get a response, the man speaks in a low voice, coated with a Spanish accent, "Leave me alone."

Chip furrows his brows, shaking his head, "No," he says, insistently, knowing the man could get sick any second now, depending on how long he's been out here. "You don't have to tell me anything, just please, come in. You'll get sick out here."

"Fool," the man speaks, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his tanned face, "If you knew anything you'd know I don't get sick."

Chip huffs but stays patient, "Fine. You won't get sick. But you can't stay out here. You may not get sick but you can die, you know, and freezing your ass off out here will certainly give the Reaper a head start. Come on, please?"

"Go away," the man said once more, "I am not here to talk with you."

Chip sighs and furrows his brows once more, heading back inside. He hears the man mumble to himself, "Fool," and the man shakes his head, "Like he can help."

Chip comes back out, noticing that the man has shifted. He stares momentarily at the towel in his hands before moving forward before the man. The man only glances at him, shaking his head, but Chip hears him chuckling. "Persistent, aren't you." The man smiles, "Cuán insensata el mente joven es. Cuán amable usted es," but he speaks so quickly and fluently that all Chip catches is a brief, "Gracias," and the nod a head.

Chip nods as well, and gestures the man inside, and with yet another nod the man goes. He glances around the large home, quirking a brow. "You don't seem short on money," he notes the obvious, and Chip rolls his eyes.

"Don't remind me."

The man gives him a confused look but Chip waves it away with his hand. "Go down that hall and to the left. Wait there… Please. I'm going to find you more towels and get you something to drink. Anything in particular you want?"

"No," the man says shortly, glancing at the boy, "Nothing in particular. Thank you."

"No problem," the teen says, heading up the stairs. This isn't something he would've ever thought he would be doing this Saturday, on any Saturday. He goes to the hall closet and takes out two more large towels, but thinking again, he takes a third. Heading into his father's bedroom, he looks quickly through the large closet, disregarding most of the clothing and then looking in the dresser.

He pulls out the satin pajamas and tries to imagine the man downstairs in them, and with a nod, he thinks they might fit. His father was a big man. He had gotten his leanness from his mother's side. His father was a different case entirely.

He goes downstairs and heads to the living room, laying the towels and the clothes down on the couch, watching as the man slowly dries himself off. "You can take a shower if you like – and just to let you know, you're _not_ going back out again, not at least until it stops raining. The shower is up the stairs and the second right down the hall," and Chip tries not to think about how he sounds like a mother.

The man nods, "Thank you," and he chuckles, "That seems to be all I'm saying lately. I'll have my drink when I come out, if you don't mind."

Chip's eyes meet the man's suave gaze, "Of course not," he speaks softly, suddenly breathless.

-

When the man comes out of the bathroom, Chip is changing into his own pajamas. The musical notes adorning them at first make him feel deeply embarrassed under the intense gaze of the older man, but the smile that crosses the man's face is worth the embarrassment.

"Charming," the man says under his breath, and Chip is certain he wasn't meant to hear that.

He says nothing at first, smiling, heading into the kitchen and then telling the man, "That room down the hall… The third one from the top of the stairs, on the left. That'll be your room for the night." Chip smiles, "Just wait there, I'll be right back up with your drink. You can watch T.V. or read one of the books in the room, if you like."

"Thank you," and the man turns quickly to head into the room.

As Chip fixes the man some hot chocolate, he can't help but admire the man's smoothness, and the way he doesn't seem at all judgmental of him. He's been used to all kinds of people staring, pointing, yelling and shouting at him, because he's _Chip Skylark_, but this man… This man doesn't seem to feel that way.

As Chip sighs softly, he thinks that he kind of likes feeling like an equal, and not like an object. Somehow, even though he and the man have said little to nothing to each other, he feels close in a way to the man despite his aloofness.

And as he walks up the stairs, and opens the door, walking in on the man thumbing through a book absentmindedly, he can't help but smile as he places the hot chocolate on a coaster on the end table. "Feel free to do as you like," he says with a grin, turning on his heel to leave the room.

"What's your name?"

Chip freezes for a moment. For a moment he thinks that the man is sincere, because it's not like he has any reason not to be. Another moment passes and he thinks of not telling the man - fearing the loss of the sense of awkward equality between them. "Chip," he says, but he leaves it at that, hoping the man wouldn't press further.

"Could you come over here for a second, Chip?"

The teenager does so hesitantly, completely unprepared as the man takes his shoulders into his large hands and presses him against the wall. For a moment his mind enters a frenzy, a panic – for a second, Chip has no idea what to do, say, or think.

The man's breath is warm on his ear, his wet hair cascading down his shoulders and dampening Chip's pajamas due to their close proximity. He can nearly hear the man's strong heartbeat, and he speaks softly, "Así que hermoso... Así que dulce…"

The man pulls back only slightly, his lips hovering over Chip's. Chip is feeling all kinds of emotions, but he can't quite place them.

And then suddenly the man pulls away as though he's done nothing, and Chip squirms away quickly, leaving the room.

Later that night, laying in bed, he's almost certain he can hear a guitar playing, a gentle, soft, melody, but he can't recall a guitar left out anywhere for anyone to play. He also almost certain that the man, from that room down the hall, is singing, oh so softly, his voice still low, still deep, and though he isn't sure why, he squirms uncomfortably.

He shakes his head, closing his eyes, content to listening to that faded sound, content as it rocks him slowly to sleep, ever so slowly.

-

When Chip wakes up the next morning and heads to the guest room, he never thinks that the man _wouldn't_ be in his room, sleeping, or awake. For some reason, he feels a little disappointed. He hadn't even caught the man's name.

But as he enters his own room once more, he notices something that wasn't there before. A little note written on a folded piece of paper now rests on his pillow where his head had once been.

He walks over and opens the note, confused by it's contents but still keeping it in a drawer for safekeeping. Maybe he'd still see the man again.

_Chip,_

_La melodía de la pasión es ah tan dulce, ah tan apacible, y ah tan joven..._

_Juandissimo Magnifico _

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_Spanish, courtesy of Free Translation (dot) com (pardon any mistakes), in order: _

_"So beautiful… So sweet…"_

_"The melody of passion is oh so sweet, oh so peaceful, and oh so young inside you…"_

_-_


End file.
